


Let’s Not Skip the Good Parts

by crazymak316



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Inspired By Tumblr, John and Sherlock play a game, John owes Sherlock some favors, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, QUARANTINE FICLET, Sherlock and John are quarantined together, this takes place during the virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazymak316/pseuds/crazymak316
Summary: This Johnlock ficlet is inspired by the sherlockchallenge on tumblr. This is technically supposed to be for April’s prompt “skip” but I wasn’t able to write it until now.In which John creates a little game to make quarantine a bit more bearable for the both of them, and he realizes that things aren’t as bad as they first appear. The lesson to be learned here, is that you can’t just skip to end; you might end up missing the good parts. (Though Sherlock would like to think he already knows how everything is going to go.)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	Let’s Not Skip the Good Parts

It started like any other thing would.

Not necessarily out of the blue, but out of necessity perhaps, as most things do, after all, when the world is plagued by fear, and you’re being asked to stay inside your homes in order to keep yourself and your loved ones safe from disease.

No one ever said it was going to be easy, and there’s a few things in life that would even see to making sure that it wasn’t, thing that make it all the more difficult to endure, and oh how unfathomable right?

John supposes he would’ve liked a warning, but he was never that lucky. He couldn’t really complain when he too was stuck inside like everyone else, and not out there with all the other licensed medical professionals risking their lives for the greater good. It certainly didn’t stop the guilty voice in his head saying it ‘could be worse’, because that was a given. He’s survived hot desert sand, bullet wounds to the shoulder; blood on his hands, the blood of friends, comrades, strangers, that could never be fully washed away, as if it was under his skin, a part of him. However it was certainly easy to forget all that when you were in quarantine with a madman.

Ah yes, there it was. He hated the word, disliked when people said it, but he was, for all intents and purposes, trapped. Trapped in the flat with one Sherlock Holmes.

But John wasn’t anything if not resourceful. So yes, it was most definitely born out of necessity...this little game. There would be a time, long long ago, where even the mere thought of it would’ve driven him mad, just like his detective. In fact it did, whenever a spoiler past those bowed lips, pursed in petulance at being force to sit still, and watch something as mundane and boring as television. But now? Oh now not even John could deny that things have changed.

Because now, both he and Sherlock were together in quarantine for however long—much to his own chagrin—and his companion was always the restless sort. Being in one place for an indefinite amount of time really was the worst of news, for both of them.

You see, John had to do something, anything, and so he did.

“John.”

“Yes, Sherlock?” John sighed, folding up the paper he was reading neatly on his lap.

“Quarantine.”

John raised a brow, his eyes landing on Sherlock’s back, the detective standing over by the window, looking longingly out at the streets below.

“I know, Sherlock. Believe me, I’m aware.”

“This is inconvenient.”

John let out a snort, ignoring the icy glare Sherlock sent his way. “You’re telling me,” he muttered, attention flicking back towards his paper.

“I’m serious John. We’re stuck inside the flat with nowhere to go. Do you really think crime will just stop? I have to be out there.” Sherlock turned back toward the window, and huffed, making John roll his eyes.

“This is serious too Sherlock. You traipsing all over London looking for trouble isn’t going to help anyone, and you’ll probably catch the virus whilst you’re at it.”

“But-“

“No buts Sherlock. I might be a doctor, but I’m not qualified to care for you, if you get COVID-19. And what if you’re high risk? What if I am? Think about Mrs. Hudson. You wouldn’t want to give her the virus would you?”

“Of course not! John why would you even propose such a thing?” Sherlock looked at him in surprise, sounding appalled at even the thought of their lovely landlady getting sick.

“Exactly. The city can wait for its consulting detective for a few more months.”

“Months? John, I don’t know if I can last that long.”

“Don’t be dramatic. We’ve been through tougher, longer situations.”

John’s lips flattened out in a thin line at the grim reminder of the two years he spent without Sherlock, and if the emotions flickering rapidly across Sherlock’s face was any indication, he’d gather Sherlock knew exactly what came to mind just then.

Yeah it might be hard, but they’ve waited for longer; it wouldn’t even come close to...we’ll, that. I could never.

John cleared his throat, meeting Sherlock’s apologetic gaze. “The death count may be receding Sherlock, but it’s still out there devastating the nation. Just be grateful our government is doing something...I mean, look at America.”

Sherlock snorted, his face scrunching up in disgust. “I don’t want to be grateful to Mycroft for anything. In fact, John, let’s go out and give COVID-19 to my brother.”

“No, absolutely not.” John deadpanned, “that’s a terrible idea and you know it. Besides, he’s not that bad.”

The detective pouted, and stomped his way over to the sofa, dramatically draping his body over the length of it. He tossed his arm across his face, the toes on his bare feet twitching. John sighed, tossing the paper he had no chance of finishing onto the coffee table; Sherlock was getting antsy.

Just yesterday he was stomping around the living room, screeching his violin, and shouting out lyrics to songs that John didn’t know. The day before that he counted, or, at least,  _tried_ to count, and  _very loudly_ , might he add, each and every speckle on the ceiling. And the day before  that , it was the spaces in the asphalt. John doesn’t even want to get into every other day so far, and it’s only by the very thin thread he’s tethered Sherlock to, that he’s got him straying away from experiments. (Lest he create another virus.)

“Sherlock, would you like to play a game?”

He saw Sherlock perk up, toes curling curiously as he peeked out from under his arm.

“A game?”

“Yes,” John smirked, quite please with his own genius, “a game.”

“What...what kind of game?” He raised a brow skeptically, multicolored eyes flitting about John’s face, deducting, searching for some kind of tell, a giveaway.

John glanced around quickly, his own eyes falling upon the remote, which rested amongst the clutter on the coffee table.

“Well, we can watch the television.”

Sherlock deflated. “The television? Seriously John? What kind of game-“

“I wasn’t finished,” he interrupted, feigning seriousness, “do you want to play or not? Because we don’t have too, and I’ll stop.” He baited.

“No! Tell me John. What does this game have to do with the television?”

“Alright. I’ll tell you. But you’ve got to promise-“

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say!”

“I don’t care John, just spit it out.”

John glared, and crossed his arms. “Fine. You have to watch whatever I choose to put on the television: movie, tv show, anything.”

“But?”

“ _But_ , I’ll let you guess the ending. Then we can skip ahead and see if you were right.”

“Okay...and if I’m right, John? What then?”

“If you’re right...I owe you a favor. After the quarantine ends, though, and only then. Unless it’s something that can be done inside I suppose. With minimal damage.”

“Hmm, then if I’m wrong, I’m guessing you get the favor? Sounds very risky John, for you at least. I don’t usually get things wrong.”

“There’s a possibility. You’re not perfect.” John raised a brow, his expression a challenge.

He knew he had Sherlock in his clutches already, but it certainly didn’t do any harm to get in a little tease.

“If you don’t like the favor idea,” John continued, “we can always change the prize. We’ve got time.”

“Alright then. John Watson, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Yeah? Good doing business with you then, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock grinned, and John’s shoulders sagged in relief. It would hopefully be enough to hold the detective off for a while, and if it allowed John to get some sleep—he could always do with some peace and quiet—then all the more better for it, right?

“The game is on.”

And that’s how it started.

Soon enough, John and Sherlock were playing their little game almost every day, and as to be expected, each time they did, they found Sherlock was usually right. It went without saying that whenever the detective was seen getting antsy, John would simply turn on the telly, pick something to watch, and leave Sherlock to predict the ending. As promised, John would then skip to the end, to see if his assumptions were correct. They were.

And sure, John was having all of his favorite shows and movies spoiled, but after a while, he found that it really hadn’t spoiled his mood as much as he thought it ought to. In fact, he was having fun. It wasn’t really a surprise once he thought about it, seeing as he always knew his flatmate was brilliant; saw it with his own eyes almost every day for the ten plus years they’ve known each other. It was always a pleasure to see Sherlock deduce, to come to a conclusion faster than any normal human would, to witness the utter, sheer brain power of a Holmes.

John smiled to himself and shook his head, lifting his thumb off the fast forward button. Sherlock did it once again.

“I don’t know how you do it Sherlock.”

“You do. In fact, I think you’ve done this all on purpose.”

“Oh?” John raised a brow, his amused expression directed toward his friend.

“Yes, ‘oh’. Surely you must know, especially by now, that I will always be able to figure out the ending? They’re simple story arcs, John, and simple story arcs follow even simpler patterns, because they’re set down a given path. A beginning, middle, and end; the rising action, climax, falling action, and your denouement. No matter how different the content, a story is a story, and they’re all the  same . You can’t possibly be ignorant to this fact, John, being as dull as you are. You love films and television shows after all. Even twist endings foreshadow that the story is set to head in a different direction, that you can expect the unexpected, which makes it become expected.”

“Thanks?”

“What I’m trying to say is, John,” Sherlock steeples his fingers underneath his chin, “why do you continue to play this game, with the knowledge you could never win? At this point, I have a lot of favors against you, that is, if we continue to go with the original plan.”

John shrugged, “I have a lot of favors to do for you then.”

“Yes, but why? You said I could ask anything of you, as long as it didn’t cause much damage.”

“Sherlock, it’s just a game. I made it up on the spot to keep you occupied because I knew how much the quarantine was affecting you, negatively. I’m actually doing myself a favor too, because by you keeping busy, I’m able to keep my own sanity.”

“Hmm, that’s it? You’ll really want me to cash in all these favors I’ve won eventually?” Sherlock raised his brow, hands falling neatly into his lap.

“Why not? I already follow you wherever you go. I make tea and food for you, clean up after you. Do almost everything you ask, as it is, Sherlock.” John rolled his eyes.

“I suppose. Very well.”

“Besides, even if I get the endings spoiled for me, and well, we skip almost all the good parts—everything really—I get to spend time with you. We get to watch television together, like everybody else, just a bit unconventionally.”

“In that case, I’d like to use a favor now.” 

Sherlock leaned in and captured John’s lips with his own, a large hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. When Sherlock pulled away, John chuckled, a large smile blooming on his face.

“You silly, gorgeous, stupidly brilliant man...” he said a bit breathless, shaking his head fondly.

“You didn’t need to use a favor for that.”

“Perhaps not, John, but if we continue to play this ridiculous game, I figured I should start using them before you’re forever indebted to me.”

John snorted, “okay. Sure.”

Sherlock smiled, which made John smile all over again, and they both leaned back in for another kiss, this one much less chaste than the first. Sherlock swiped his tongue across John’s lips, and he parted them, allowing the detective to deepen the kiss. John made a pleased sound, and Sherlock hummed back, both sounds being quickly absorbed by each other’s mouths. When they pulled away this time, it was for air.

They knocked their foreheads together, and John closed his eyes, his smiling returning to his face.

“Was that another favor?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If you can accurately guess how this,” Sherlock gestures between them, looking smug, “is going to end.”

John laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners, the little crows feet smiles of their own.

“That so? And what? We’re going to skip to end and see if I was right?”

“Oh John, you and I both know that that’s not only impossible, but also highly implausible. I’m not entirely inclined to skip any of this.”

“You’re insufferable.” He teased, his cobalt eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“But y-yeah,” John wet his lips, “I don’t really want to either.”

And it started like any other thing would...

(John would also like to note that, things do have the ability to change. Quarantine with Sherlock isn’t as bad as he thought. Sherlock would like to say he told you so. Of course he expected it to always end this way. John owed him another favor.)


End file.
